The Arranged Mafia Marriage
by FeathersandBittenPillows
Summary: At the request of Edward's powerful mafioso father, he must marry a fullbodied Italian girl in the form of Isabella. He finds himself falling in love with her like crazy. Will she find love in him too, or will Edward's rising power in the underworld destroy them, when he is made Don after his father's illness takes hold? AH. Lemons. Mobward.
1. Returning Home

I own nothing to do with Twilight. All characters belong to S.M.

This story will be loosely based on the Godfather, I'm a huge fan of the trilogy. Edward is the only son of powerful business person, Carlisle Cullen, and is fated to be the heir apparent after his father passes away. Edward originally grew up in Italy, but against his parent's wishes, flew to America to study at Dartmouth college. Now returning back home, he gets in deeper with the criminal lifestyle his father represents, and by his father's wishes, he must marry young Italian Isabella Swan.

Will they end up loving each other or will Edward's criminal lifestyle drag them in deeper to a life of anguish?

Please review and let me know if you're interested in more. Reviews encourage me so much, so if I get enough, I would be so eager to continue writing. :-)

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><p><em>The Arranged Marriage<em>

EPOV:

The last time I ever attended a religious service, was at my youngest sister's christening. Alice, was now sixteen so you can imagine how out of the loop I was.

Yet, somehow, here I was in expensive and respectable church clothes, after having returned from what felt like a lifetime of touring the states of America and expanding my education, much to my father's dismay.

I hadn't even seen my father in a little over six-years.

Against my Pa's wishes, I had left the family home for a shared dorm at Dartmouth college, even though my Pa was flat-out against it and believed the education system was total bullshit. My father had always believed education not come from sitting in a room full of kids your age, enduring tedious lectures and scribbling down answers to essays. No, my Pa always believed education came from life experiences. And, if you wanted to focus on what life experiences my Pa had gone through as a young kid, he was none the wiser.

His mother died of cancer when he was sixteen, and his alcoholic father disowned him.

He spent his life out on the streets, making money for himself by stealing and whatever means he could, making a hard-earned name for himself. That was mainly why Pa was respected so much.

My Pa hadn't changed much in all these years. He is wearing a nice charcoal grey suit with a narrow dark green tie with a red bow tie clip, and his hair is short, thin and salt-and-pepper. He soaks up the priest's ear-catching Bible tellings like a sponge. I notice there is a middle-aged woman standing right next to him in the pew, and she is clinging onto his arm like a blind woman. Immediately, I recognize her as my mother.

She, too, hasn't changed much. She still has that youthful look about her, wearing a conservative black dress and a rope of pearl around her neck. Her long chestnut hair is tied back into a neat bun and she looks even more tanned than I remember; probably due to all the extra years she has spent outside tending to our olive and grape orchards in the blisteringly warm sun.

I didn't know how long I stood there, staring at my parent's like they were ghosts, but then I am suddenly aware that everything is quiet, the priest is stepping off the center of the stage- altar, whatever- to abandon his microphone.

Everyone around me stands and a low chatter starts around the room.

The priest approaches my Ma and Pa, and in turn my Ma looks very pleased.

He bows his head, takes her hand, and kisses it. He turns and does the same to my Pa, though let's his kiss of gratitude linger for a little longer, out of deep respect. My Pa gives a nod in approval and then the priest walks back up to the corner of the stage with a large cluster of young teenage boys in suits who most likely are new to religion, and they file out.

Then, a few other men in black suits slid out of their seats and they solemnly approach my parent's. They do the same as the priest in succession; first, kissing my Ma on the hand by bowing very slowly, then lingeringly, on my Pa's.

I catch a husband and wife a hair's length ahead of me share a bewildered glance at the exchange going between my Pa and his men. Of course, I could easily figure out why it must have appeared so weird to them. They weren't accustomed to it, like I was. Living in a house with my Pa for over twenty years, did it to you. Not a day went by where funny men in suits wouldn't march their way up the winding mahogany staircase and up to his study, like a pack of ants trailing the other, to show their respect or offer their phony displays of loyalty to gain my Pa's confidence. Lawyers, financial advisors, he knew them all.

After a while though, it bugged the life out of me. That was partly the reason why I had to get out and experience something different. Like college and all the normal shit young boys experienced, like making bets to see who would be the first to get laid and lose their virginities- that was me, obviously- and, fuck me, the girl I'd lost my virginity to, was standing right next to me.

Tanya was a great conquest in bed. She liked to be rode fast and put away extra wet.

I didn't really believe there was anything serious about where our relationship was heading and yet, here she was, having caught a twenty-four hour route back to Italy with me, so that I could introduce her officially to my parent's. I knew my parent's would disapprove the minute she shook hands with them.

Tanya was pure born-and-bred American, and my parent's had always insisted that I settle down with a nice pretty Italian girl.

Perhaps I was feeling extra rebellious, but I was literally itching for the moment I saw the disappointment painted on my dear Pa's face. Tanya was blonde- not natural, but peroxide- and very pale. She had bright blue eyes, curvy lips that she always kept smudged in deep red lipstick, and she also often wore short, thigh-length dresses that showed off her best assets: Her long, slender legs.

Speaking of which-

I look down at those legs, which are in show in the short black dress she's wearing for the service. She notices and, with an extra air of confidence, she plops back down into the chair and, of course making sure I was watching, she slides a leg over the other and purposely hitches the skirt piece of her dress higher up her thigh with a set of glistening red fingernails. My eyes widen. I'm pretty certain she's wearing a red thong underneath her dress.

Highly inappropriate for church. I_ like_ it. But just before I am able to illustrate just how much so I like it by whispering in her ear that we should get lost and find a hotel room, I find myself staring straight into the grey eyes of my father.

Carlisle Cullen. Most feared Sicilian man in Italy, the most enterprising business person.

I feel the color drain out of my face as he begins to stalk down the aisle, hands clenched in all sorts of repressed anger. He is breathing heavy and his bottom lip is curled over. For a moment, I think he is going to hit me but then... he stops.

My Ma appears behind him, and she clasps a hand around his arm. My mother always had a magical touch that soothed my father most. He turns to look at her and the intensity of their shared look is overwhelming. It's like Ma was saying to him, through telepathy, "_Don't make a scene, Carlisle, you haven't seen your son in over six years!"_ Then, he nods curtly in understanding and turns slowly to me again.

"Son," he nods, and his voice trembles slightly. "Fancy seeing you here. Why aren't you studying in America, where you deserted us, your poor parent's who've done nothing but loved and supported you since you were a tiny fetus in your mother's womb?" His tone is mocking, yet it doesn't affect me in the slightest, like it should have.

Ma darts him a sharp look, and as her eyes meet mine again, she softens noticeably, enough to give me one of her warm, loving smiles. I realized then just how much I'd missed being in my mother's company. She was the most generous and selfless loving woman I'd ever met. Quickly, I return the smile.

"I know I've been away for a while, but I wanted to come back and visit home," I say calmly, feeling the need to explain. "I've missed you both. I know I probably hurt you both by leaving unexpectedly the way I did, but it's true. I really did."

My Ma stares at me, and her eyelids flicker. Before I know it, she's racing to embrace me, and a deep moan erupts from her mouth as she flings her arms around me. "Oh, Edward," she cries, and I feel deeply touched. My mother hadn't changed one bit; she was always the emotional one. "I'm so relieved to see you look safe and happy."

As I wrap my arms around her to tighten the hug, I catch sight my father's face behind her back. He looks as if he wants to strangle the life out of me, yet wants to hug me to death at the same time.

"All right, all right," he says, after a long moment of hugging. My father was hardly ever one for sentimental gestures in the middle of a crowded room full of church-goers. "Edward, come on with us to the family house. There is much to discuss."

After a clear moment of uncertainty, he clears his throat, then extends his hand for me to shake. Hesitating, I take it. He dives in to clasp me on the back, a half-hearted home-coming gesture.

"Sure, I'd love to, Pa. Of course."

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><p>The family home hadn't changed much and because of it, it left me with an aching head full of memories.<p>

Playing chasing games in the backyard with my Pa and sisters, my Pa coming home one evening to show me his six-shooter gun, my Ma clapping and whooping, then flinging her arms around her face when I took a topple over on my bicycle... I felt ill with nostalgia.

As my father and I slowly settle into a set of modern dining room chairs with each our own tall glasses of red wine, he starts at me all incessantly, which I'd been expecting sooner or later.

"What have you been doing with yourself? _Why_ haven't you settled down yet? _What_ took you so long to return back to your parents?" And, finally, "Why haven't you found yourself a nice, beautiful girl to settle down with and take care of? Are you attracted to_ men_ or something?"

I reach out for my glass and tilt my head back, taking in three big urgent gulps. This conversation was going to take some time.

I'm starting to lose my all ready thin patience by that time, so I decide to hit him with all it's worth. "Pa, I have a girlfriend."

Now at last, I have his complete and undivided fucking attention.

"To _who_? _Who_ would want to be your girlfriend? Who would want to date a selfish boy like you, who puts education before his family?" he says, a matter-of-factly, as if it was exactly his intention to insult me.

I knew then, that I had disgraced him by spending all those years out of Italy. He still was holding a severe case of sour grapes over it, to say the least.

I lean back in my chair and jab a finger over at Tanya, who is trying her very hardest to offer her assistance in helping my Ma make Gnocchi in the kitchen. Her hands keep fumbling and she keeps screwing it up, and sometimes she even giggles hysterically at herself like a hyena, but my Ma was too kind to ever bring something like that to light. My Ma simply smiles back at her, forcing down a few laughs of her own. Besides, it was the thought that counts and Tanya was clearly trying to make an impression. It was nice to have a woman who actually cared and made an effort with all of that shit.

My Pa studies her very carefully like she's a creature from another planet, his grey eyes raking down the entire length of her body. From her tight short black church dress which finishes just an inch or so above her slim milky thighs, to her tan suede ankle boots. I'm sure I hear him give out a disgruntled sigh.

"Her name is Tanya. I met her while studying at Dartmouth."

"Well, she _is_ pretty," he allows, very grudgingly. "But she is your typical American." It took everything in me not to roll my eyes. My father always felt Italian's were superior, but that didn't mean I held the same sentiment. "Her clothes don't fit her body, they're too small. She lacks the grace our Italian women possess. Now, what happened to finding a pretty Italian girl, like we arranged before you decided to skip off halfway across the country out of some childish whim?"

I hate admitting it to him, but I have to. Back then, I was angry at him for not letting me go off and do my own thing as a young boy. But now, I suppose I could realize he only had my best interests at heart.

"Pa, I know this isn't the life you planned out for me. But... I like Tanya, and she likes me, too." Pa sets his wineglass onto the table and, even then, I can read the look on his face. I've disgraced him. Dishonoured him. "I know you only wanted what was best for me but I had to go off and experience things on my own. I had to make my own experiences and mistakes, and learn from them."

His face contorts at my words and for a moment I begin to wonder if he is about to cry. Only, realistically I should have known my Pa does not cry often. He holds a finger up to his lips, deep in thought. He is silent for almost a long, uncomfortable minute.

"Edward, my dear boy." He leans forward in his chair and holds out his hand for me to take. His hand is trembling and, as I go to take it without hesitation, I'm struck by how dry his skin is. "At the time, I blasted you from my existence. I... despised you to hell and back for going against me, your poor old father, in that way."

I lean forward, and give his hand a firm squeeze. "I know, Pa. And I'm sorry. I just... needed to break away from all of this family stuff. I needed to do my own thing."

"Yet you disown your family like this for six years," he says, almost to the point of yelling. "Your dear mother, Esme, comes into your room to say good-morning and she finds your bed empty and a note by it, telling us you're very sorry but you've left to study in America." He takes in an unsteady inhale, struggling to keep hold of his temper. It makes me feel incredibly guilty, and I lower my eyes. "Your poor mother, she came to me crying and crying. She wept days after you left. And now... _here_ you sit."

I still don't look up at him. I can't bring myself to. All the pain I've caused is there in his shaking voice.

"I... I thought you and Ma would have been happy to see me again?" I ask, managing only a pitiful whisper.

He sits up very slowly and with all his strength, his other hand closes over mine tightly. "Edward, my second child and only son," he says gently, "_Of course_, your mother and I are very happy to see you and that you chose to come visit us, the way you did. For your mother and I to see you, like this, so well and happy and young-spirited... is a breath of fresh air."

I wait cautiously for him to continue. "But...?" There was always a catch whenever it came to my father.

"But... I want you to get rid of the girl." He gives my hand another final, weak squeeze. "And, we will find you a nice Italian girl to settle down with. In fact, the man who lives next-door, his daughter Isabella is such a sweetheart." His voice is final; there is no arguing with him, no discussing on the matter.

"Pa, I _don't_ think so..."

"Oh, my son doesn't think so?" He chortles, and there is a hard edge to the sound. I peer up at him through my eyelids; his face glows with both sentimental feelings and disbelief for his son. "My son dares to go against my word?"

Before I know it, he sends his hand, palm open, against the side of my face roughly, smacking me out of it.

My eyes widen in shock and I grind my teeth together, as the sharp blow stings almost painfully.

I stare into his eyes a moment longer.

I feel an urge to hit him back, see how he likes it. But naturally, I don't. He is my father afterall, a very powerful man to the community. His eyes are hard and full of warning, daring me to push him to breaking point. But I was wise enough not to.

"Now," he breathes, snapping up to his feet. "I will go next door and I will return with this pretty Isabella girl and you will _sit_ there and talk, like two young kids in love."

Fully alert and coiled like a spring, my eyes follow his retreating form as he marches out of the room, like a man on a mission. I consider following right after him, then realize it was better to keep him happy and his temper unprovoked.

Sixteen long minutes pass by and I still don't know where the fuck my father is.

I peer down at my gold wrist-watch, I tap my polished shoes against the hardwood floor, I gaze up at the crystal chandelier, I make eyes with my Pa's consigliere, Aro, who I see is still hanging around my Pa like a shadow, who hovers by the front entrance in the dining room, looking all sorts of misplaced and useless. He gives me a stiff, home-welcoming smile. I return it, deliberately just as stiffly and nod in greeting.

Then finally, my father returns into the room and, just as he said, he isn't alone. He pulls a young girl into the room by wrenching her forward by the elbow and instantly I am left feeling breathless, like never before. I hadn't ever felt such a strong pull to an unfamiliar young woman before.

She is wearing a wine-colored dress (with not an ounce of thigh in sight) and is absolutely beautiful, surprisingly. For once, my father was right.

It's a struggle to even take my eyes off her, as my Pa pulls out a chair for her swiftly, then takes his seat. She sits, very cautiously and very quietly, crossing a leg over the other. Her skin is very creamy, milky, with a nice amount of redness dotting her cheeks.

Long dark hair falls midway below her shoulders in waves, and a small amount of freckles dot and scatter along the bridge of her narrow nose. I immediately realize the reason I am unable to stop peering into those eyes of hers; they're a very dark brown, bright, deep, and depthless.

"See, would you look at this?" My Pa chuckles and leans over in his chair to pat me on the shoulder, "I told you. What you need is a good Italian girl. You can't even take your eyes off Isabella, can you?"

At my father's words, a small smile curls her lips, and she immediately looks down into her lap demurely. Her cheeks redden, like blood in a saucer full of milk.

"I think the best thing to do here, is for you both to get married," my father announces and that immediately snaps me out of my fascination for her.

"What?" My voice is a deep, stunned croak.

"Let's make it an arrangement," my father continues as if he hasn't heard me speak, then takes one of the girl's hands tenderly in his own. "The joining of two pure Italian's. Afterall, Edward, you'll be in charge of business very soon and will need a woman of your own to take care of and give you the precious gift of children."

Through his words, our eyes meet. She stares back at me, and the pair of us observe each other, both completely foreign strangers to the point of alieness. I notice we both must have the same expressions mirroring our features: fear, surprise, and lack of want.

My father rises very quickly from his chair, then leans down to me with a wink. "As for now, I'll leave you two alone." He raises a hand to grip my shoulder, "Get to know one another, while I go deal with her father and make the arrangements." He turns to the girl and sends another wink her way, this time. "Have fun, children."


	2. Settling Arrangements

**Disclaimer- I own nothing to do with Twilight. Everything belongs to Stephenie Meyer. The plotline is just my own and I'm playing around with the characters a bit. Enjoying it, too.**

**I want to thank you all for the reviews and alerts, it sincerely made my day.**

**I hope you will enjoy this chapter There will be more Edward and Bella interaction in the next, it's a slow-building thing at the moment. Please review and let me know your thoughts, I loved reading them. As asked in a review, the 's will be switched between Edward and Bella, I just hope to get the workings of Edward's family business and the mafia life underway. :D**

**Think we could get up to 15 reviews with this chapter?**

**Thanks so much for reading, you are all so awesome!**

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><p><em>The Arranged Marriage<em>

Chapter Two

I didn't know why, but the soon as my father leaves us alone, I simply stare at her. She avoids all eye contact, her brown eyes fixated on her hands as she twiddles her thumbs around underneath my gaze. Maybe it was rude to even compare, but immediately merely by looking at her, I knew there was something different about her in comparison to Tanya.

It was not because this Isabella girl was of Italian-blood and Tanya American. Those differences didn't even register. No, it was so much more than that. There was just something about Isabella, something I couldn't quite put my finger on, that Tanya didn't have. She looked quite... innocent and virginal, if that blush was anything to go by. She reeked of purity.

Usually, you couldn't tell if a woman was a virgin or not without being downright rude and asking her, but with her... I definitely could. And that made her all the more sweeter to me. I didn't know why it was exactly but I felt my pulse quicken rapidly as I imagined all the different ways I would be corrupting her. Not just physically, but morally.

"Hello," I mumble without an ounce of charm, merely because I didn't know what else the fuck I was supposed to say. A nervous giggle gets caught in her throat.

"Hi," she returns, soft as a whisper. She sounds just as nervous and uncomfortable over the situation as I felt.

We didn't seem to get past any more introductory conversations than that because, before I knew it, my Pa was ushering me to come with him at once. I knew better than to ignore him, considering how uncharacteristically frantic and stressed he looked. It made me feel stressed and tired in return.

"Your girl Isabella's father is upstairs," he says. "He wants to meet you formally before agreeing to anything sudden." He throws out an arm to clasp me on the shoulder. "Come, introduce yourself to the man. Keep your manners in check."

"Of course," I agree solemnly. I rise from my chair at once, and start to follow him obediently. I find myself unable to even manage a mere peek in the Italian girl's direction out of a pleasant, farewell gesture in parting. "Where is he?"

"Up in my study waiting," he tells me, sounding so carefree that everything will go as he wishes. "I offered him a glass of wine, but he refused." He frowns and shakes his head violently, eyes wide in disbelief. Anyone who refuses a simple glass of red wine from my father, was untrustworthy in his books. I could see as much in his eyes. "He said he won't drink anything without knowing for certain whether I've slipped anything into it, or not."

I raise my eyebrows up at him. "Really? He said that?"

"Yes, he did. And he is very lucky I'm trying to be on my best behavior here, otherwise I would have felt insulted at the mere accusation and might have even done something highly unpleasant to show it." Lucky, indeed. An insulted Carlisle Cullen was not one you would have wanted to come across in a deserted alleyway anytime soon.

"Uh, Dad?" I begin nervously, as we tread up the staircase, him still steering me with a firm hand flat against my back.

"What?" He sounds as if he genuinely doesn't know what I'm about to ask, which wasn't doing any favours from the rising nausea swirling in the pit of my stomach.

"What about Tanya?"

"_What_ about her?" He shrugs a shoulder flamboyantly, then laughs in glee. "She'll understand. You had to do what you had to do, she'll see that. It was pure naïvety of her to assume a boy, like you, would end up marrying a woman like her. If she's any smart, she'll know your relationship was a casual thing. She'll know it wasn't going to last long."

I frown, considering in silence. What if my Pa was right? After all, he seemed to have lots of insight over sizing up the potential of a relationship. But, with a firm grip of understanding onto my own feelings, I knew I liked her a lot. We had fun together. Plus, the sex was great, outstanding. Of course, sex wasn't everything but we had great potential in the bedroom.

As soon as we've climbed our way to the top of the stairs, my father turns to me. "Son, listen to me. Do as your father says..." He leans in closer, until his mouth is just roughly an inch or so from my ear. His hand tightens over my shoulder to the point of searing pain, and I grimace. He lowers his voice and even then, the threat in it is distinguishable even to the hardest of hearing man. "After we discuss this arrangement over with beautiful Isabella's father, you will immediately return to your American. You will tell her what you need to. Hell, you can even pretend to cry, just to make the outcome more positive in her eyes." His voice lowers a lesser notch and is even deadlier than before. "Then, you will send her back on a plane to America right away. You will not make contact with her after this." As his grip on my shoulder lessens, so does the harsh tone of voice. He makes it considerably brighter, "Now is that understood, my dear son?"

I think I understand what he is telling me, between the lines. I'd be a fool if I don't comply with my Pa's wishes. Not only that, but I'd be out on my ass the second I didn't and named a disgrace to my family for generations to come. I would be a dead man to my father.

I wouldn't be considered a son to him anymore. I would be dead to him, a nobody. Someone he wouldn't look twice at if I had so-happened to pass him years later in the street.

Taking it in with a grain of salt, I suck in a lungful of air. "I understand, Pa. I do."

He gives out another hearty chuckle, as he claps me on the shoulder. The sound comes off as more sinister, than anything. My heart feels as if it's racing a mile a minute because of it. His mouth twitches. "Good boy. All ready, you've done me proud. Now let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

I discover one of his men are waiting by the brown oak door of his study. As soon as he notices us approaching, he jumps forward to open the door for us. My Pa beckons me forward with an impatient whisk of his hand, so I enter first, rather cautiously.

His study hasn't changed a lot over the years.

It was still kept fastidiously clean, without a shred of paper documents in sight. My eyes scan the room. First, they take notice of the large desk in the center of the room, scarcely decorated by a wilting pot plant and a glass ashtray. Several long half-smoked cigarettes are stubbed in it. I hadn't even known my father was a smoker, until then. Perhaps he had always kept the habit secret from us children. It seemed like the thing he would do; my father often regarded habits a weakness of character.

My father's leather recliner chair was still positioned directly in the middle of the desk, currently unoccupied. There are two chairs in front of it, and I just as suddenly realize, one is all ready occupied.

A man, about my father's age, is seated, looking very uncomfortable and distracted.

He is wearing a suit that looks well-worn, and one leg lays crossed on the other on his lap. You can tell he is very uncomfortable about being in my father's office, simply by the way his leg wiggles back and forth in a very anxious manner alone.

He is dark-haired and has a long pointy mustache, which bristles are graying due to age. His eyes dart, very quickly, from my face, to my Pa's, then back again. He seems very restless.

This must be Isabella's father, I presume, and I am regarded by him with frosty amusement.

As my Pa leads me in closer with a hand flat against my back, his stare shifts harder, surprisingly critical. He runs his pair of near black eyes from the top of my head, all the way down to my polished church shoes. While the resemblance between him and his daughter is as different as chalk and cheese, thankfully, the shape of his eyes are uncanny. Exactly like his daughters; I found I could have gotten lost in them for days.

Once my father plops himself down into his seat, he gives the agitated man his utmost attention.

"Charles, father to the young Isabella, who I pray will make an honest boy out of my son... before we get straight to the nitty-gritty, how about a cigarette?" he offers, plucking a square-shaped carton of cigarettes from the center of his bare desk.

"No, thank you, Don Cullen," Charles refuses curtly, with a shake to the head.

"Uh, that's unfortunate," my father says, then extracts a long cigarette out for himself. As he slips it between his lips and lifts a gold plated lighter to the very tip, he pauses. "Would you mind if I have a cigarette? I find they soothe me after a stressful day of business."

Clearly Charles gave my father the silent go ahead, because he lit his cigarette without a second's worth of waiting. He tilts his head back to take in an indulgent drag, then refocuses his attention on the man sitting in front of him.

"I invite you over to the Cullen family home to ask for your blessing," he explains readily, while clouds of light-grey smoke curl around him. "I won't beat around the bush here, but my son finally visited home after six-and-a-half very long years away. He comes visiting with an American." His face scrunches up, like it's the most dreaded thing in the world. I make no point of hiding the roll of my eyes from him. "As you very well know, I do not approve of my son getting involved with anyone other than of Italian heritage, which is why I humbly request for your young daughter, Isabella, to be given to him, as both a wife and the bearer of his children in the near future."

I have to take in a deep breath to control myself. I watch him, sitting there in his chair all high and mighty, like a God, and feel that I hate him. I really hate him for this. I mostly hate him for what he is getting me to do; break-up with Tanya, who has been nothing but sweet and committed to me. She didn't deserve any of this.

And, most of all, I hate my father for not realizing how hard this will be for me, to break it off and end things on an amiable note between Tanya and I. I hate him for being so heartless, for how much this is bound to hurt Tanya and make her hate me.

I felt sickened at the mere thought of upsetting her, which was inevitably about to happen. But, most of all, I felt sickened with myself for standing there in the corner of my Pa's study, doing nothing to prevent it, doing nothing to stand up to my father while he bargained with this Italian girl's father, making him offers he cannot refuse, so that this girl who I knew nothing of and she knew nothing of me in return, could eventually marry and be binded together in holy matrimony.

It was just all kinds of fucked up. Who arranges a marriage nowadays anyway?

I suspect, halfway through my minds restless battles, that the pair have come to a favorable conclusion. They shake hands, and my father looks all joyful and happy. Then, he rises from his chair and comes at me, swooping in to give me a proud sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"Congratulations, my son," he whispers, sounding oddly enough, on the verge of tears. "You now have yourself a fiancée in Isabella. May your first child together, be born a masculine child. I pray you will both find yourselves in wedded bliss, as your mother Esme and I have."

* * *

><p>"Believe me, I never wanted to do this. But... it's just the way it's got to be. I'm <em>so<em> sorry."

Tanya stares at me in dead silence for a long moment, her eyes blank and face expressionless with the shock. For a moment there, I panic and assume she has stopped breathing. I leap forward in the chair, and take her hand gently in mine. Then something happens because immediately, she jolts awake from her senses and she is slapping my hand away, long fingernails clawing and digging into my flesh painfully.

Her eyes dart over to my father, who has a sympathetic expression painted all over his features. Suddenly, and without warning, she bursts out crying hysterically. My heart aches to comfort her maddeningly and yet, I find it's my father in my place.

My Pa, always the one for theatrics, presses his mouth into her hair and soothes her down. "I know, my dear girl. I _know_."

"He... he broke up with me! He wants me to go back and finish college without him," she wails despairingly.

My heart feels as if it's been squeezed to death by a set of tweezers and I step forward slowly, pining to hold her in my arms and apologize over and over, until it makes things better. Until she realizes just how much insignificance I have in all of my father's decisions. I reach out my arms but the second I do so, my Pa darts me a look from over her head.

_Don't you dare,_ his look says. _Stay away, you have to make her believe. Keep this up._

"I know, darling," he whispers hushedly, "I _know_. My son is very insensitive in ending things with you the way he did. Sometimes, he does not think. Even when he was a child, he did not think things through."

Tanya whimpers again, and he cradles her face between his liver-spotted, aging hands delicately. She peers into his eyes deeply, tears rolling down her cheeks. "_Sssh_," he breathes, clucking his tongue in what appears to me as feigned tenderness.

It pisses the fuck out of me, it couldn't be any further from the truth; he has no regrets in hurting this poor beautiful young woman. He doesn't care at all, his emotions are not involved in this. To him, this is just another quick way to take out the trash and bring in the new.

"This is for the best, afterall. My son is right. But on the bright side... I will provide you the money it will cost in catching a plane back to America. It will come as free-of-charge to you."

She doesn't answer, or express her gratitude in anyway whatsoever, which did not surprise me. I had been with Tanya since the start of college, after all. She never did seem overly concerned with money, or materialistic things. Well, fashion and dresses... that was another story all together.

"Come," my father continues. "There is a car waiting for you outside. It will take you directly to the airport, darling."

As they make their way to the front door- my father steering her and patting her back soothingly- not once does she peer back at me. It's like I never existed, I wasn't there.

I think, for the first time, I was weighed down with an intense feeling inside.

It was like a huge weight was being pulled over my shoulders, dragging me down underneath the earth. I realized then, after a long moment of curious thought while standing there, staring off vacantly into space right at the front door where both Tanya and my father had nursed her, it was the feeling of being broken-hearted for the very first time in my entire life.

The feeling of losing someone special and dear to you, someone who you had a fond place in your heart for, yet you were not allowed to grieve for them.

Eventually, my Pa returned into the room. He looked, funnily enough, as if he had aged about twenty years older and soon as he found a chair, he collapsed right into it with a heavy sigh. "Oh, boy," he panted to himself, clutching a hand over the left side of his chest. "That girl was a piece of work. I didn't think she would ever hop into the car."

I stared at him, while he lounged there, blissfully unaware that I do so. Unconsciously, I felt my teeth clench together and the hands dangling at my sides fisted up into tightly wound balls. Crazily, I considered racing into the kitchen, taking my belongings and going after Tanya. Yet, for some reason, my shoes felt as if they are glued to the ground and that I was completely numb below the neck.

I realized then, just how heartless a man my father could be. And that I had made the biggest mistake imaginable, in visiting home. I ought to have known I would have gotten tied up into my father's bullshit and dishonest ways all over again.


	3. Bella's Preconditions

_I own nothing to do with Twilight- never will. Ever._

_I want to thank you all so so so much for your reviews and alerts. It is so motivating to read what you guys think, so I'm really hoping you'll like this chapter. A bit more Edward and Bella into the mix._

_Hope you enjoy, you're all so amazing. I'm truly touched! xxxx_

**Keep in mind that Bella is seventeen years old, she's fairly young, whereas ****Edward is twenty six. :-)**

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><p>Chapter Three<p>

Family gatherings and dinners at home in Italy were always a fanfare production and my Ma had always loved and soaked up every second of preparing and planning meals in the kitchen a day or so in advance. My mother Esme always had the most wonderful culinary skills. It was seriously enviable. All us children, whether we were halfway across Italy doing our own things, or halfway across the world in America, we would always find ourselves coming back home for more.

There is a large selection of food on the table, laid across a fine white linen table cloth. A bowl mounts with dark black olives. Next to it, a plate full of Bruschetta drizzled in olive oil and topped with Prosciutto- an Italian type of thinly sliced ham. Next to my Pa's elbow, was a round bowl of his most favorite dish; linguine soaking in white clam sauce.

The steam from the hot linguine and lasagna and all the other types of heated food engulf around us, and the smell combined is deliciously mouth-watering.

"So Edward, what did they feed you while you stayed in a dorm at Dartmouth college?" My Ma asks conversationally while cutting a slice of Bruschetta in half with her knife.

She leans over in her seat quickly to plop the half down onto my youngest sister, Alice's plate, who responds with a big grin, then returns her eager attention back to me. It seems like she really wanted to know.

It appears she has forgiven me for staying away for so long, unlike my father, who gave me trouble about it every second he got, since returning home to visit.

I shrug. "Lots of food, Ma," I tell her. "No need to worry."

"But you're looking a little thin," she continues, running her eyes over my face contemplatively. "Then again, even as a young boy... you were always so thin that no large amount of food could ever fatten you up." She laughs heartily at the last part.

"Well, what can I say?" I joke, as I spoon some olives onto my plate. "I have a good metabolism, unlike Pa who looks like he is about to explode, any minute now." I had simply meant it as a joke, but I could tell he didn't take it that way.

His head darts upright from his plate the instance it falls out of my mouth and he gives me a dirty look. My face burns. He keeps staring at me in disgrace for a very long moment so I deliberately turn back to my plate and bring myself to eat.

Ma notices and clears her throat, also returning her attention to her plate of food.

My Pa chinks his fork very loudly against the tip of his glass and we all pause from our eating to give him our attention. "I would like to make a toast," he announces, "Stand with your glasses."

We all rise from our chairs at once, gripping onto our glasses of red wine in the similar fashion father does.

He lifts his glass high into the air and some of the dark red liquid sloshed over to splatter onto the table but he ignores it. Alice, however, gave out a giggle. I throw a smile at her.

Pa's grey eyes mist over, as he gives each one of us around the table a tender look. Then, he sighs deeply and claps his free hand over the right side of his chest, right where his heart was underneath.

"I have waited for this moment for years and at true last, it has arrived," he begins, planting his eyes on my mother. She gives him a small, wistful smile in return. "Not only has our beloved son returned to where he belongs- here, with his family- but he also now has himself a fiancée. A fiancée!"

I glance down at my glass, feeling everyone's eyes looking at me. There is a low murmer of excitement from my two sisters. They both want to know who and when. Ma gives out a surprised squeak from where she's standing.

"To our son and Isabella!" my father shouts and wine glasses clink together in celebration. I don't join in on the celebration. I don't touch my glass with anyone, I keep it right in front of me, eyes planted resolutely on it.

Then, an uncomfortable silence falls over. I look up to find everyone staring at me. My Ma, whose eyes well over with tears. My sister's, who are looking a little confused, but still they recover enough to give me a bright smile. Then, my eyes fall finally onto my Pa. He stands there, expectant and waiting, eyes boring into my own.

"Well, what do you have to say to me, son?" he says in a deceptively calm voice. "Don't I get a mere kiss and a hug from my son for my triumph in finding him a wife?"

I force on a smile for him. "Thank you," I mumble stiffly, not making any effort in hiding the unhappiness in my voice. He hears it and, for a moment, he just stands there, looking extremely angry. "_Thank you_ for making me end things with Tanya. _Thank you_ for showing me just how callous you can be, Pa." His jaw muscles twitch and his hand that holds his glass trembles.

"Fine then," he whispers to himself, then drains his glass hastily in one huge gulp. "Have it your way, then. You disappointment me." Maybe to stress point on just how disappointed he is in me, he lets his glass slip out of his hand. It smashes very loudly by his feet. He storms back into the house and just before he reaches inside, he yells, "Ungrateful, useless son!"

I smile bitterly to myself, then drain my glass. I glance up to see my mother staring at me, wide-eyed in fear.

I step over to her and take her face in my hands gently, and she lifts her hands up to cover them over my own. Her's are trembling.

"Edward," she whispers up at me urgently. "Please go to where your father is and apologize."

I'm stunned. I would have thought my mother, of all people, would be understanding enough to take both view-points in consideration.

"No, I _won't_. I'm not going to apologize for what I said, because it's the truth."

"Son, _please_," she begs hushedly, eyes panic-stricken and wet as they peer deeply into my own. "Please do this for me! Your father hasn't been himself in a long time. I hate to think what he might do to you, if you don't-"

"Ma," I cut in flatly. I stare deeply into her eyes. "I love you, and I love Pa no matter what. Call me stubborn, but I won't be apologizing anytime soon." I shake my head and give out a deep sigh in frustration. "I'm sorry but I-"

"Edward, please! What are you so angry at him for? What did he-"

"Ma, you know the American girl, who was helping you in the kitchen?" I ask, and she curtly nods. "Well, we were dating for over _five_ years and then Dad made me break it off with her and got her to catch a plane back to the United States, free-of-charge!"

She stares at me, with a blank expression on her face. She doesn't understand what I'm grasping at. Fucking hell.

"He set up this whole fucked-up thing where I marry this Isabella girl, and I _don't_ even know her!"

"But Edward, honey..." She laughs shakily, "I didn't even _know_ your father! It might be hard to believe, but I was in the same situation!"

"What?" I stare at her, mouth open in shock. Did Ma and Pa get married out of their parent's will, too? No, that couldn't be possible anyway. Pa left his parent's as a young boy. His mother died, for Christ's sake. And Ma, well... I don't know.

She sniffs and a few tears roll down the sides of her cheeks. "I had no choice but to marry your father, because he came to visit my parent's one early morning and they could see that he was very powerful, and very wealthy."

"Really?"

"Yes," she laughs again. "It was all so strange. I was seventeen years old and he must have spotted me when I was helping my mother in the garden. I glanced up over the hillside and -_there_!- he was standing there and staring right at me, like he'd been hit by a lightning bolt or something."

"But, did you love him like you do now? Did you even _want_ to be his wife?"

"Uh, not at first," she says, grimacing in embarrassment. "I felt such rebellion, because my parent's were pushing me away relentlessly into this stranger's hands. It was outside of my control. But he was very handsome back then. Charming, too."

A funny look comes across her face, and I can only describe it as awe.

"He had such thick blonde hair and, oh my god, he wouldn't seem to stop trying to flirt with me! He was determined to get my attention. He would throw flowers at my face and he'd even throw pebbles outside my bedroom window in the middle of the night, when my parent's were sleeping, just to wake me."

I frown at her in disbelief. That really didn't sound like my Pa at all.

Then again, he always did treat Ma differently, especially when they were alone, when no one was looking. As a boy, I'd walked in on them kissing and moaning a few times and my Pa would always be the one to spring apart and pretend he was staring at something near her, like one of the paintings on the wall or a potplant. My mother would be left looking all flushed in the face and panting.

Maybe he was different when he was younger, more carefree and romantic?

Her brows furrow as she remembers something. "Of course- and I _know_ this isn't quite the consolation you're hoping for- but... I did not feel I loved him until after we consummated our marriage. Just experiencing how, uh, gentle and... loving he was, sealed the deal for me."

Now it was my turn to grimace in embarrassment. "Uh, okay," I say, after half a minute, thinking it through. "So, once we have _sex_... it'll work out differently?"

I move my hands from her face slowly and separate myself from her, taking a step back a fraction and folding my arms across my chest. I can't even look her in the eyes.

"Well, um, I'm just gonna go for a walk," I say, majorly embarrassed. "To let off some steam. I'll see you later. Oh, and I'm_ still_ not apologizing. Not _yet_ anyway," I add quickly, behind my shoulder at her.

She stares at me in utter confusion as I slowly back away. Just before I make a turn and start walking through the orchards in the backyard, I hear her shouting, "Uh, _no_! No sex until _after_ the wedding ceremony, dear!"

I toss my head and try to hide a snicker. _Like that would happen._

I was above having sex with a girl I didn't know. I stop dead in my tracks, cursing myself all the while, just as I approach a clear pathway through the trees.

Oh, fuck. Why did I have to run into her _now? Isabella._

Like before, I found myself breathless, short of breath. I hadn't felt that way toward Tanya, yet I didn't want to waste time dwelling on why. There was certainly something about her. Something... different. Something earthly and naive about the way she held herself.

She has a horse with her, a dark silvery stallion. She makes little cooing noises at it, while she runs a pair of outstretched hands down along its muzzle tenderly. I could tell she has a passion for animals; this horse especially. And if that wasn't reason enough to stir feelings of both attraction and desire for her, I didn't know what was.

"Oh, tell me what I should do," she whispers, in a very tiny voice.

My stomach leaps. For a moment there, I think she's actually talking to me... that she somehow knows I'm here and... I open my mouth to ask her what she means. Then, I realize she's actually talking to her horse. Not me, just her damn amazing stallion.

She runs her hand along his silvery neck, then leaves it there. "Help me," she says, short of a cry in desperation. I can't seem to move, or leave. I can't even feel my fucking toes but the hurt and plain agony in her voice crushes me. "My father says I have to marry this man's son and I... I _don't know_."

I swallow dryly and take a slow step backwards without paying any attention to where my foot was going. A twig crunches and snaps underneath my heel. Oh, great. It was definitely loud enough for her to hear, it had to be.

I close my eyes at the sound and swallow hard, holding my breath in.

I wait in dread for the moment she screams, or yells. Only... it doesn't come. All I hear, is her horse giving out a low-pitched whinnie. My eyes reopen at once.

She wasn't even looking, thank god. It was like she never even heard, surprisingly.

She gives out a sniffle, as she leans forward, her beautifully pale neck elongating as she tilts her head to rest her cheek gently against the meaty part of her horses shoulder.

"What if he's mean?" she continues a moment later, through more loud sniffles. It sounds alarmingly enough, like she is crying. "What if he hurts me? What if he treats me badly and beats me? After all, I've seen all those types of men that have come to visit his father. It can't be for anything good, it can't."

She was revealing openly, her doubts of marrying me- this weird stranger- to her horse. Only unbeknownst to her, I was eavesdropping in like an ass.

And what I was hearing, was that she didn't have much of a good opinion on me.

Of course, I knew her feelings matched mine the second my father made the prompt announcement, the second we laid eyes on one another; The prickling fear of marrying a stranger, yet the poignant itching of curiosity to get to know them, inside and out. Every dark, deep desire and every fear...

Or maybe that was just me. And that was seriously fucked-up.

I lean against a long winding trunk of a tree behind me, mesmerized, while I stare at her. I didn't know how long I stood there, listening and watching. But her sniffles became more frequent and I'm pretty sure I heard her give out a few moans somewhere along the line.

At least she can't see me watching her. At least, I'm_ hoping_ she can't. I'm hoping the low thick bushy branches of the tree keep my face concealed in the shadows.

There's an enormous echo of voices and, I realize just as suddenly that it's Alice calling out to me from our house, and it's now literally pitch-black dark outside. Poor Alice, I hadn't seen her in so long; she was probably dying to talk to me.

Stubbornly and quite cruelly, I admit, I ignore it and turn back to watch Isabella with her horse. Then, I realize it's too late, that I've been found out, because she's staring right at me intently through the trees.

She lifts a hand to push back a piece of shiny dark hair behind her ear, and shivers. "How did you, uhm... _why_ are you here?" she stammers and blushes furiously.

_Yeah, she's definitely a virgin,_ I think.

I climb out of the bushes, trying to appear friendly and as if I'm not some creepy guy who'd been hiding from her, like a Peeping Tom. "Yeah, sorry," I say quickly, desperate to explain before she starts screaming bloody murder. "I was just heading out for a walk. I forgot you lived next-door here."

She stares at me blankly for a second at my explanation, then turns away. She sniffs again, then raises her hands to quickly wipe her eyes.

Before it even registers in my mind what I'm saying to her, it flies out so carelessly, "Been crying?"

She looks a little on the defensive side. "Maybe. _So what_?"

"Why?"

"_Why,_ you ask?" She gives out a little derisive snort. "Well, for starters, I feel_ completely_ betrayed by my own father. And second, I'm being forced to marry _you_ and I don't like decisions being made for me. _Ever_."

I was stunned. First appearances told me she was so shy and quiet and yet, here she was, shooting her mouth off and voicing her frustrations out loud. I _liked_ it.

"Well, that makes two of us."

Her dark eyes widen in doubt as she rakes her eyes over me, giving me the quick once over for some reason or another. It makes me feel quite self-conscious and left all the little hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

"Really?" she asks, voice tinged with surprise.

"Yeah. I honestly don't like this idea, either."

"Then call it off," she says, like it's easy as tying a shoelace. Which it wasn't.

Her look turns pleading and I have to close my eyes, to shut it out of my vision. "I'm sorry but I can't. You cannot even begin to imagine how much power my father has. If I do, if I dare go against his wishes, he'll disown me as a son." Slowly, I open my eyes and give her a pleading look of my own. "My parent's are the most important people in my life. Surely, you understand that? I can't lose them by going against their wishes, like this."

I'm a little unnerved by her reaction to my words, when her hands fly up to cover her face. She shields her face from my sight for a very long stressful moment, her chest rising and falling as she heaves in desperate gulps of air. Once her hands fall from her face, I make out the wet stream of tears that roll down her cheeks

Sure, I was born to a father who lacked heart and who hardly ever showed his feelings, but that didn't mean that I was without.

I had wide experience with comforting both my sister's and my Ma throughout the years and I could tell when a woman needed comforting when I saw one. And it killed me to see her like this, all because she was being forced into marrying, well..._ me._

Would I_ really_ make such a bad husband? I'd like to think I wouldn't, no matter how arranged it was and how little I felt for the woman.

I take a step towards her, like she's a wild animal that could easily snap and become dangerous within a second.

"Listen, Isabella," I begin, as softly and soothingly as I can muster. She immediately stiffens and becomes wary with my approach. It's like she assumed I was going to start attacking her or raping her, or something. I hold out my hands to her, fingers splayed, just to show her I mean no harm. "I know you're worried about this, but... I _promise_ you, I won't hurt you."

She's still staring into my eyes once I close the distance between us. They dart around my face several times, searching for any signs of treachery. I wasn't feeling concerned by what she so-happened to find in my expression; I wasn't lying, after all.

"But... _how_ do I know I can trust you?"

I groan, exasperated, at her words, I run my hands through my hair, I rub at my eyes with my palms tiredly, searching desperately for the best possible way to explain. I didn't even know where to start.

"Isabella," I pant desperately and, as I go to meet her eyes again, she looks away, dragging them over to her horse.

When a stab of irritation hits, without thinking, I take her chin in my palm and lift her eyes back up to mine again. Her eyelids flicker closed at the gesture, and a small gasp slips from between her parted lips in- surprise? Fear? Anger? Who knows what.

"Isabella, please. You don't have to be frightened of me," I tell her, my voice cracking in desperation. Still, with my words of comfort, her eyes fall down to where my chest is for the slightest hint of a second and then she brings them back up again. "I think we can make this arrangement work. I won't be mean to you, beat you, or anything like that."

Her dark eyes scan over my face again. There are new tears welling in them.

Her hair is very long and wavy, like a silver wave in the moonlight. I want to reach out and see for myself, if it really is as soft as it looks, only I didn't want to creep her out anymore than I all ready had. That wouldn't be good.

Just as she opens her mouth to say something, a man is yelling from a while away.

"Bella?" he hollers. "Come inside now!"

She huffs in distress and gently takes my hand to move it away from her chin. Her hands were soft, like silk. I felt then I wanted to feel the sensations of said hands running all over me, down along my chest, my stomach, my-

"Bella, inside this instance!"

I felt the blood pound to my head over where my thoughts were taking me. How disgustingly impure.

She turns away and cups her hands over her mouth. "Okay, Pop!" she yells, her voice loud and clear and echoing through the trees. "I'm coming, _just a minute_!" She hisses derogatory Italian words underneath her breath, some that even I can understand. She was feeling very angry at being called in by her father Charles; she had a curfew.

I'm right on her tail as she moves urgently to climb onto her silvery horse, lunging her way up with her legs to sit onto it's back. I whisper her name. She is panting, as she turns to look down at me, her cheeks flushed. Her long hair whips back and forth behind her ears from the breeze.

"So, we have a deal here?" I ask.

She holds my gaze for a moment, then nods slowly, sniffing. "I have some, um, preconditions, though... before I agree to this with you."

"I'm all ears."

"Number one: you are not allowed to raise your fists at me, in any shape or form."

"Of course not!" I tell her quickly. I shudder at the thought.

"Number two: you keep your hands to yourself _at all times_, unless you have my permission. No touching, and no grabbing. Understand?"

"Uh-huh," I slide my hands into my trousers, just to show it. "Okay, easy."

"And, number three," she continues again. I roll my eyes up at her dramatically. What more does she want from me? Fuck. "Don't expect us to be doing any... uhm,_ 'funny'_ things." She quickly breaks eye-contact with me, scanning the trees.

"'Funny' things?" I repeat loudly in confusion, with both eyebrows raised.

She shoots me a pointed, meaningful look. One that I understand about half a minute later.

"Ah," I laugh, finding it both hilarious and disappointing. "No sex! I get it. But... everyone will be expecting us to consummate our marriage after the wedding's finished? What will we do instead, sleep?"

A coy smile stretches across her lips, the first one for me since we started talking tonight. "Use your imagination," she says and then she's off on her dark horse, galloping away through the bushes and out of sight into the darkness.

I turn and start walking back home through the bushes, grinning broadly to myself all the while, hands still tucked deeply inside my trouser pockets. Perhaps this wasn't going to be so hard after all, an arranged marriage.

As I push through the opening of the orchards, my parent's large and looming brick house comes back into view. My Pa told me years ago when I was a little boy, that the house had been built in the early eighteenth century. And now, though the floorboards creaked and the tan bricks layering it were worn and crumbled, it still was holding as strong as ever.

I take in a deep breath, inhaling in the cold, crisp evening air while I stood, taking all of the family house in with my eyes indulgently. My eyes scan the second story windows, the last on the left, to find that the light is still on and the red curtains haven't been closed yet. My Pa's study.

It meant only one thing; my Pa was lounging around in there, waiting for the very moment I knocked and entered. He was waiting for me to apologize over ruining supper. For all it's worth, he could go to hell. The only room I was entering in tonight, was the old room I had when I was a kid and even then, the only place I was going, was straight to bed.


	4. A Forced Kiss

**So sorry it took me so long to update. I really hope you are still enjoying this. I promise to update more regularly! Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews, please keep them coming and let me know your thoughts on this chapter. xx**

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><p>Chapter Four<p>

Sometimes, I think that men are more romantic than women. When we love, we love deeply, if quietly, less obviously.

Women are preconditioned, I think, and set in their ways to find this ideal of a man they call their very own Prince Charming, like in the fairy-tales. A man who is both handsome and rich, considerate and protective.

This can sometimes mean they'll overlook what is standing right in front of them.

With us men, though... we just have to find that one woman that makes our priorities change entirely, and she's it. We'd never officially settle down, have her squeeze out a few children, unless the girl could affect you in life-altering ways. No matter how pressured or arranged, it was.

She would probably never see it that way, though.

And while, I wasn't one to believe in soppy shit like love-at-first-sight, with her it was pretty damn close. The girl who makes you change your ways, unlike no other. A girl who makes you think, just _maybe_, that you'd like to even marry her one day.

I was starting to think maybe my Pa was right. Maybe Isabella was _it_ for me.

There was just something about her. The way she interacted with my Ma, especially.

She comes over early on a bright and sunny Thursday morning- most likely, at the request of her father. She spends the morning hours out there in the backyard with my mother, who teaches her how to clip and tend to the olive garden, and amazingly, she soaks up every word my Ma directs her, like a sponge.

_Very much, a girl you could take home to Ma..._

I sit out on the back open porch in one of the cane chairs, flipping through the morning's addition of the newspaper. My concentration is restless, and dwindling, with not being quite settled on one particular thing. I scan through the curled print at the corner of the page- which tells me the crime rate in Italy is soaring- not really reading and taking in anything note-worthy, because...

I hear them; loud and clear.

"Like this, dear, you just clip the ends," my Ma says, laughing. Isabella laughs right along with her, so carefree- almost as if last night's worries never even happened for her. Her laughter, mingled in quietly with my mother's, is somewhat infectious and I catch myself smiling because of it.

Sometimes, I'll steal a few peeks over at them, observing her, wondering about her...

I can't stop myself from doing it again and again. For what felt like the millionth time in hardly an hour's length, my eyes flicker over to her. She is opposite my mother's back, on her knees. Today, she wears a white sun hat to cover her eyes from the early morning's bright rays, and her dark hair flips all over her bare shoulders from the heavy breeze rustling the garden. She wears a blue dress that brings out her complexion wonderfully, and her knees are all dirty and stained.

It is nice to see her like this, so carefree and enjoying the time she is spending with my Ma learning- a nice, reassuring contrast to how she was last evening when I ran into her with her horse, crying her heart out and expressing her pent-up fears that she held over the bizzare situation we both found ourselves in.

I know she doesn't want any part of this, that she doesn't really want to marry me and, frankly, a small part of that awareness makes me ache inside. But, with what my Ma said, over her own arranged marriage with Carlisle, she was apparently just as resisting over the whole ordeal. Only, somehow, she had come to love my father and, now look at her? Middle-aged, with three children- one son, two girl's, and she's never been all the more merrier than she is today.

Realistically, I couldn't force this girl to love me. But I could try show her how nice I could be, how gentle. I would fight for her, to make this whole crazy thing work, because.. losing my family was not a possibility for me.

I fold up the newspaper neatly, stand from my chair, and toss it on my now-empty seat.

Tucking my hands in my trouser pockets, I start to approach them. The instance she looks up at me questioningly, the adrenaline is racing, along with the pulsing nerves. I don't want to embarrass myself, or say, and do, the wrong thing.

"Come for a walk with me around the yard?" I ask, a quiet and gentle suggestion.

Her face scrunches with uncertainty, but it's gone a moment later, when my Ma encourages her gently, her indecision wavering. "Well, all right," she gives in, standing up and dusting her hands and knees off.

Coming up real close, she nestles into my side, and tucks her hand into the crook of my elbow when we start to walk. It's a little startling, once the realization is made, that she has put her hand on me, but I hide my surprise well and rather instead, focus forward over the green orchards.

"Your mother is very beautiful," she says very quietly, in a breathy whisper.

For a moment, I think I've conjured her up saying that in my head, and I turn to look down at her. She's looking up at me, her dark eyes bright and shining in honesty, through the rim of her straw hat.

"She is," I nod in agreement. A funny dreamy smile stretches across her face, her front teeth glistening through her lips.

"I like what she's done with your house, how she puts so much effort in her garden," she says by way of explanation, her eyes roaming around the large green yard unfolding out between us while we stroll. "My mother used to do the same. She would spend her days outside all by herself gardening." Her smile goes even wider than I imagined, and I can only describe her as awed.

"Where _is_ your mother?" I ask uncertainly, realizing I've not even neither once seen nor heard of her in all my few days spent back home which was, in retrospect, quite odd. The father, I've met in Carlisle's study, but the mother... Wouldn't her Ma want to know about all of this? "Isn't it, like, customary for a daughter's mother to be introduced to her soon-to-be-husband?"

The moment that comment slips so carelessly from my mouth, I wish I could suck it back in, because it discomforts her, somehow. She winces.

"Oh, ah." Her smile falters, as she looks ahead. "She died when I was thirteen. She was ill with cancer for a while, but she still managed to spend time in her garden until the last few days, where she succumbed."

Pity surges through me at the tone in her voice; the quiet sadness, the gentle fondness she still holds for her mother, despite it all.

Without thinking of what I'm even doing, without it even registering, my right hand covers over the one she has gripping over my elbow gently, fingers squeezing in, while I steer the path of our aimless strolling. I hear it in her throat, as she swallows when it occurs to her what my hand is doing, and her head darts upright to meet my look. I can tell she is uncomfortable by the contact by the way her mouth pinches together and, still, I savour it.

The feel and look of her small feminine hand, still so soft and warm against my larger and coarse one, her fingernails covered in dirt from her assisting my mother in the garden.

"Remember," she starts stiffly, but with an air like she's teasing, "You made a promise not to touch me without my permission."

I smile down at her wryly. "I did, didn't I?"

I wait anxiously for the moment she scolds me, tells me to remove my hand, only surprisingly, it doesn't come.

Rather instead, she takes my breath away by slipping her hand underneath from my own that is covering her, reaches out her arm, and takes mine in hers, linking her forefinger between my own as she tugs softly, signalling me to resume with our walking. I do, and she does, only this time she takes lead.

She ducks her head underneath one of the low branches of an orchard tree and guides us through a narrow strip surrounded by whipping leaves. I blast my height, as I have to duck down lower than she has, and I think she laughs at me. Well, at least I'm assuming she did.

"Are you laughing at me?" I ask, feigning offense and catching her off-guard, I reach out and pinch her side between my fingers through the laciness of her blue dress.

She lets out a low squeal of shock and whips 'round to face me, her mouth hanging open while one arm is clutching her stomach right at where I pinched her.

"You are _not allowed_ to touch me!" she says in warning, yet the twitching of her mouth gives her away.

"Bullshit," I laugh, calling her out. I lift our interlinked fingers and hands, and tug her forward. She stumbles a bit towards me and wrenches her hand back, staring me down with dangerously hooded brown eyes. "You like me touching you, I can tell," I add playfully, and just the slightest bit smugly.

She throws her head back and laughs, a short cutting sound. Is she laughing at me?

"I _do not_," she says, real anger in her voice this time.

"Yeah, you do."

She slaps me against the chest with all her might, and I can't help it. I double over, laughing. She slaps me again, against the shoulder, then leaves her hand there, fingers curling.

I think I want to kiss her. Fuck that, I know I want to. Just to see what it's like, if it's maybe any different than it was with Tanya.

We are both silent, aside from our ragged breathing, her eyes looking deep into my own as we assess each other's reactions. Making sure she sees it, I make a point of bringing my eyes down to her mouth. Her front teeth pulls at her bottom lip, tucking it in. I can't tell if she wants it too, but then I decide what's the worst to happen?

We're concealed in the orchards from anyone, especially my mother. _One quick kiss, is all I ask._

I bring my hands up to cover the sides of her chin, and she inhales sharply. I lick my lips as I peer into her eyes meaningfully.

"W-w-what are you-?"

I duck my head in, and just go for it.

I mash my lips against hers and they soften against my own. Her hands come up to where mine reside against the side of her throat, thumbs picking and plucking, and her tiny fingers curl over them. A tiny grunting noise erupts from the back of her throat, and I think it means she wants more, so I slide in closer to press my body against hers. Her breasts mash snugly against my chest, her hands and fingers yanking at my hands, forcing them down and away.

And then, I realize...

Fuck, do I realize. She throws her mouth away from mine and slaps me across the face, hard.

Her eyes are wet and wild, brimming over with tears. Her chin wobbles, as her mouth makes a hard and angry line.

And then, it's all so fast, it leaves me reeling about in confusion.

"Bella, I-" It was good, no matter how brief the kiss was. But I would have liked it better, had she been a little more responsive.

"Stay away from me," she cries, jabbing a finger at me in warning. "Just keep away!"

And then, without another word, she turns and starts running through the trees. I try to run after her, to apologize, only it's too late. I reach the openings of the orchards, and she is long gone with nowhere in sight to be seen.

In a delayed moment of pain through the shock, I rub at the side of my face where she hit me. A gnawing sense of self-loathing overcomes me.

_God, what is wrong with me? I knew after a bit, she was resisting and didn't want me to kiss her, and yet I never pulled away? I never stopped myself and just kept on kissing her? What has she turned me into? What if it happened after we were married, but in bed? Would I have actually stopped then, or would I have stooped so low like I had now and went through with it, force myself on her?_

No, I reason with myself, then. Because, first and foremost, I am not like my father.

My father is cold, and heartless. I'm not. Even when he does have intentions for me to take over family business, I will not turn into another, like him. I just won't.

**Hope you liked this chapter? Please let me know, thanks for reading :-)**


	5. Don Edward

_Chapter Five_

I was still scolding myself, as I went back through the orchards to where Ma was.

_What on earth was wrong with me, forcing a kiss onto her like that?_ I feel utterly ashamed with myself. _The poor girl was scared about the dire situation between us, and I didn't make it any easier on her._

When I approach to where Ma is, on her knees, still snipping away branches in the stretch of olive trees, she pushes her hat higher on her forehead with her fingers, and tilts her head to look at me. Maybe there is something there written all over my face that gives my worries away, because immediately, she abandons the olive tree she's working on, and rises to her feet. She wipes the dirt off her fingers, before telling me to come for a walk around the yard with her.

Ma was not a woman you could refuse easily and, realistically, why would you even want to? She was the most insightful, knowledgable woman I know. Especially, regarding the opposite sex, since she was one herself. Perhaps she could give me a few headers, because... I just can't work out where I went wrong. Yes, I forced a kiss on her. Yes, I could judge that Isabella was resisting a moment afterwards and, still, I pressed on, like an overbearing ass. But I just needed Ma to spill it out to me, loud and clear.

When we walk, it's completely silent. But in a good way. The silence is comfortable, and free of tension. Exactly what I needed.

At least, my Ma was not a very complicated woman. Her, I could understand. Then again, she's my Mother.

As we walk, she wraps her arm around me. She squeezes into my side gently. "What happened with young Isabella?" she asks, quietly. I suck in a lungeful of air. "I saw her running back into her yard. Did something happen between the two of you? You're not fighting, are you?" Her eyes are bright with concern.

"No, Ma. We weren't fighting.

"Then what, honey?" she presses, relentlessly. "I know when a girl looks confused, and upset. Trust me. What did you do?" There is no accusation, or reprimand, in her tone of of voice. She just genuinely wants to know.

I focus on something in the garden ahead of us, as we walk. I just don't want to see the disapproval on her face, once I told her the concerning truth.

Deep breath in. _All right, here goes. Get ready for Ma to yell at you..._

"I kissed her, Ma," I tell her, feeling incredibly guilty. "I don't know why, or how it even happened. I just felt I wanted to kiss her, for some reason. And, when I did..." I wince at the memory. The look on her face. "She didn't want it at all. She screamed at me to keep away from her, then ran away, fast as she possibly could."

"You kissed her?" I expected Ma to be angry, only when I do turn to look at her she, rather instead, looks shocked.

"Yes." I hesitate, grimacing. "Are you displeased in me?" This is what I worry about the most; Making my Ma unhappy in me.

She throws her head back, and laughs at me. Why, I have no idea whatsoever.

"Of course not, honey." She pats me on the arm gently. "Maybe, you just frightened her a bit. She seems very reluctant about the arrangement your father has made. She might feel she is betraying herself, if she enjoyed it."

I raise my eyebrows at her. "Betraying herself?" I repeat, confused. "What do you mean exactly?"

"Honey, I was the same way with your father. I felt, in a sense, if I let myself become closer to him... if I let myself start to feel things emotionally for him, then I would be betraying myself." I give her a sympathetic look. It sounds horrible for any girl to endure, I guess. "But, you have to understand... those feelings slowly fade away. I think, in the situation, you have to put yourself in the girl's shoes. She'll warm up to it eventually, darling."

I groan. "I honestly hope so."

She rubs my hand tenderly. "She _will_. You're a very handsome, thoughtful young man. It would be impossible for any young girl not to."

"Not as handsome as Pa, though. Right?" I joke knowingly, and she grins widely at me.

"Oh, please don't get me started on your father today." She sighs, and waves a hand in the air dismissively. "I've had enough of him for one day. I'm trying to distance myself off from him, which is why, if you see me outside here until in the late afternoon, that's the reason."

I'm stunned. "Did something happen?" I ask, anxious. "You're not arguing with him, are you?"

"No, honey. We're not arguing." She sighs again, and shakes her head, resigned. "You know how your father gets. His emotions. One moment, he's fine, then the next..." She rolls her eyes. "His moods are never constant. He is a pain in the ass."

I can't help laughing at that, because she's so right. _My Pa. Biggest pain in the ass you'll ever have the unfortunate luck of meeting..._

"You ever regret being forced into marrying him?" I ask her, more seriously. "Do you ever catch yourself wishing things were different. Do you ever feel resentment for him over it?"

"At first." She smiles sadly. "Not anymore, though. Not with what came out of it."

I still from my walking to blink down at her skeptically. "What came out of it?"

She tentatively steps closer to me, and sits her hands on my shoulders. Her dark eyes are glowing, full of adoration for her son. "You three children, of course," she says teasingly, like she knows me asking that was a truly dim card to play. She runs her fingers through my hair slowly, then pinches me affectionately on the earlobe. "You three children were the best gift your father ever gave to me and, because of that, I find I can't possibly regret what happened all those years back when I was a younger girl, at all."

I still feel bad. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Stop it, you silly boy." She hits the side of my arm gently. "It isn't you that ought to feel sorry. _I'm_ sorry."

"_You're_ sorry?" I repeat, dubiously. What on earth does she possibly mean? "What the hell are you sorry for, Ma?"

"Because..." she starts uncertainly, nervous, "What I'm about to tell you, won't make you very pleased."

"What?" I watch her face warily.

"Your father wants you in his study," she says, quietly. My stomach sinks. "He has had men over all morning. He said, he wants you up there, when you're finished playing with Isabella."

My face feels hot. "_Playing_? What, was he watching me, or something?"

"He was watching you both outside his study-room window."

Great. Did that mean he saw me kissing her forcefully out under the branches? Now what must he think of me?

"Did he tell you why he required me in there?" I ask her carefully. I didn't want to go anywhere near my Pa. I still hadn't apologized for my behaviour that time, and frankly, I still wasn't going to. He can go eat dirt, for all I cared.

She gives me a wry look. "Honey, since _when_ has your father told me anything? He shuts me out, you know that. I wouldn't even know what he does in that room, aside from having strange men over. You know me; I keep out of things."

_Of course, she wouldn't know._ _My father kept secrets from her all my life. Nothing's changed, then. Bastard._

"Well, all right." I kiss her on the cheek and make a very reluctant start-up to the house. Ma calls out to me halfway; I spin around to look back at her again.

"Oh, and honey, he said wear something decent."

"Decent?" I say to her, beyond confused. "What would count as decent to him, in his eyes? What's wrong with what I've got on?"

"Suit," she hisses, shaking her head. "He means one of your fancy _suits_, honey!"

_Ah, okay. Suit it is, then._

* * *

><p>I still did not know why my Pa felt in necessary for me to be inside his study with him. Nor did I know, for the life of me, why he expected me to don a suit, and tie. Still, I try my hardest to honor his wishes.<p>

I rummage around in my old bedroom closest, until I find the one I wore to the church service a few days back. The tie is emerald-green, and I might risk the possibility of looking like a clown, but what gives? I find my polished dressy loafers underneath my bed, and slip them on. Just as I'm sitting on the end of my bed, getting to work at tieing up my shoelaces, I hear him:

"Edward!" He croaks out from in the hallway. His voice is impatient, gruff, and stern. I've kept him waiting, and Pa doesn't like to wait, on anybody.

"Yeah, I'm coming." I check myself out in the mirror quickly, using my palms to slick down my hair, and then straighten the lapels on my shirt. Yeah, I totally look like a clown. But, so what? Carlisle, and all those other men, look like monkeys in business suits. Oafish, burly, out-of-place. Satisfied, I start down the hallway to find my Pa is waiting outside his study for me.

He scrutinizes me critically with his eyes, running them down the whole length of my shirt, then he jumps forward to adjust my tie.

"What took you so long?" he spits out, beyond unhappy. "Everybody has been left waiting on my son. And then, I look outside the window, and there you are!" His cheeks puff out, chilli red, because I've made him so angry. "You were just out there, fooling around, like a child, with that Italian girl, leaving your own father and his men to wait!"

I'm red again, I know it, but not as red as Pa.

"Well, I didn't know! Ma never told me until the last-minute!"

"That excuse is not good enough for your tardiness, Edward," he mutters, reproachfully. I slap his hands away from my suit.

"That's it," I hiss, unevenly. "I'm not going in there, Pa! You can go in yourself, and then explain to whoever of your men, that your son is _so_ lazy he can't show on time. All right?" My blood is boiling. He's got my defenses all up.

Pa sighs heavily, then gives me a thwacking thump on the back. "Nonsense, son. Come on." He steers me towards the open door of his study. Again, I throw his arm away from me. I don't want him touching me, at all.

"Son, don't act sore about it," he whispers, more gently, underneath his breath.

"Oh, fuck you, Pa!" I whisper back. I stalk into the room and, suddenly, my anger has dissipated into fully wired nerves. There is a heck of a lot more men in Pa's study than I realized. They're all wearing the same color suits, ironically enough. I thank Ma, in the back of my mind fervently, for giving me the warning on how to dress in advance.

I make eye contact with Aro, who is sitting in the other chair placed beside my father's across from his desk. He smiles stiffly, as his eyes run up and over me. I don't return the smile. He can go to hell.

My Pa clear his throat, demanding everyone's attention. He clasps his hands together out in front of him, and regards everyone with a small smile. "I thank you all for coming here," he starts, good-naturedly. "As some of you may very well know, there has been a slight change in my physical health."

I blink at him, my skin prickling. _What the hell is he talking about?_

"I have not confided in this to anyone, not even my oldest son, Edward." He looks at me, as he says it, and I notice his lip quivers. "What I tell you all today, I ask to be kept confidential and behind closed doors. If you must discuss any of this with me, you come here, say whatever it is to me that you must, then when you leave this room, so does the compassion."

My head was whirling at his words. My Pa is sick? Since when? Does Ma even know?

A second later, though, my silent question is answered, when he resumes, "I keep this quiet from most of my beloved family, because I do not want it concerning them. However, I do not ask you all here today to dwell on my misfortunes. I ask you all here, not for your support or pity, but for your ally." He pauses for a moment, and steps forward towards me. "Since my illness, has become debilitating, I ask you all for your allegiance, and understanding, that when the times comes, my dear only son, Edward, will take care of my duties, and you will respect him, as you do me."

I'm holding my breath. I don't even know what's happening, or understand what my father is saying.

I'm left feeling flabbergasted, and stunned, when all his heavy-suited men start lining up, and filing forward. They do not kiss my father, or show him respect, like they used to. Rather instead, it is all directed at me. First man comes up, plops down to his knees, and looks up at me. I swallow nervously. I don't even know what he is doing down there, until he takes my hand, that is. He takes it in his grimy, sweat-covered hand, turns it over, and places a kiss on my knuckle.

And then, it happens again, and again, until my hand feels disgusting and wet with saliva.

It is too rude to make a loud noise about it, so I try to hide my disgust, and simply stare right back into the calm eyes of my father. It all becomes clear to me, when Aro rises from his chair, approaches me, and falls down onto his knees like the others.

"Don Edward," he croaks out, nervously. He takes my hand firmly in his, wrenches it down, and mashes his lips into my grossly over-kissed skin. Since the room is now empty, all have filled out, I make no hesitation in pulling my hand away and scoffing loudly in disgust.

His eyes widen up at me fearfully, and then, he is scrambling backwards on his knees, slipping and sliding to get away. So, now Aro is scared of me? Since when?

All I know, is that along with it, I feel a changed man already.

His scurrying to get away, after I'd shown my disgust, thrilled me a little. It was almost as if I held the power now. I held it in my hands.


	6. Responsibilities

**Chapter 6: Responsibilities**

**Hoping you enjoy this one. Feel free to let me know your thoughts :)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

After all my father's men have left, we stand in silence for a while.

I can't believe my ears. My father is sick, but he hasn't told any of us? He hasn't given us any indication that he was unwell. I have heard illness can sometimes turn you into an insufferable, miserable asshole, and makes you treat those you love most infernally. But that's just my father; When isn't he an insufferable bastard to begin with?

He was lying to everybody; To me, to my sisters. To my mother, especially. Who does that? And what the fuck just happened? What was all that hand-kissing about? What was my Pa trying to accomplish?

Getting his bearings straight, my Pa sighs sadly and turns back to his desk. He extricates another cigarette from the carton, places it between his lips, and lights it. He doesn't say anything to me. He pretends almost as if I'm not there. I don't know what he expects of me; Am I meant to stand around all day in his study-room, or can I just leave already? Since he seems perfectly content pretending I don't exist, I turn to leave. Just as I reach the door, his voice calls me back. Not once before have I heard him sound so drained and weary as he does in this instance.

"Son, stay with your father for a little while."

It isn't said in that harsh, commanding tone he usually uses for me. No, now it sounds like a desperate plea from a man frightened at the thought of being left alone in a room all to himself.

"What, Pa?" I demand sharply. I don't care if I'm being rude or insensitive. I don't care if he's severely sick and near to dying. He still won't be getting any pity from me.

"I just want you to stay with me in the room for a little while." Taking a deep drag of his cigarette, he turns to look at Aro bleakly. "Aro, leave us to some privacy, will you? I want to talk to my son in privacy."

Without a word, Aro leaves, closing the door gently behind himself.

I wait expectantly, raising my eyebrows for the catch to come. I know my father wants me here, I'm just not sure for what reason. He wants to talk to me in private. He even sent his most trusted man, Aro, out of the room for goodness sake. So why isn't he talking to me already?

Without sending a glance my way, Pa picks up his carton of cigarettes and stretches out his hand, offering me one. I don't take one; Smoking hasn't been a habit that I've picked on, and I have no intentions of starting anytime soon.

"What? Is that it?" I ask skeptically. "You want me in here just so I'll have a smoke with you? Is that_ just_ it, Pa?"

"Of course that isn't it," he says defensively.

"Since when do you smoke anyway? I never even knew you did."

"I started smoking since I found out I won't be alive for much longer." He contemplates the long train of ash building on his cigarette, before he bends over his desk and stabs it out in the ashtray disgustedly. "I figured since I am going to die, why not go out in a blaze of glory?"

"Well, good for you," I grumble stiffly. "How long have you known how sick you were?"

"I have known for a long time, but I was forced to keep it to myself. Your mother is a very emotional woman; You know how she gets. She would just be miserable all day long, crying and crying. I couldn't deal with that."

"And you don't think she has the right to know you're sick? She's your wife, isn't she? Shouldn't she know about this?"

Finally he turns to look at me, and his face is anguished.

"She can't know of this, son. No one can know of this; Not your mother, or your sisters. You keep it to yourself. I don't mind telling you, because you're a man, you can handle it. It is the way us men are built. Don't tell your mother."

Finally, I think I start to get it: My father isn't completely heartless after all. He's afraid of death, like everyone else on the planet. He just doesn't want anyone knowing it. He fears upsetting my mother most of all. But she had the right to know. Wasn't it sick for him to just keep it from her, pretend everything is alright?

"You can't expect me to keep this a secret, Pa, you can't. I can't keep something like this from Ma. Either you tell her the truth, or I will..."

"No," he says firmly. "No. She isn't to know."

"But she deserves to know, doesn't she?"

"No!"

"Do you want to know why it is that I really had to get away, Pa? Why it is that I chose to get far away from this place as possible? Why I chose to study in America at Dartmouth? Well, this is pretty much it! I wanted to get away from this bullshit, because I guess, I resented you! It wasn't a need to get out and study and make my own experiences, not really. It was only because I knew, deep down inside, that doing it would be the easiest way to hurt you most of all. I spite you. I... I hate you." I know this is only destroying him, but it has to be said. I can't hold it in any longer. "I think I've always hated you. I think I only just went off to America intentionally to spite you, because I knew I would be drawn into your mess. I should have never returned back here, I realize that now." Pa makes a noise that I haven't heard come from him before, but I don't care. I just don't give a shit. "Isn't it right? I shouldn't have come back here. I should have just stayed where I was, in America, with Tanya. Being back here like this... it only makes those feelings return again: The feelings I've always had for you. I despise you, Pa. Everything about you makes me sick to my stomach. I knew the best way to cut you was to leave and foil all your plans. I should have just stayed in America, and let all that you represent just rot to hell."

He makes a few more noises that I haven't heard come from my father's lungs before. He's weeping. For the first time in his own fucking life, he is actually weeping! And do I feel upset for being the cause of it? No, I don't. It's because he has made me hate him- my own father- so deeply.

"I guess I just naïvely returned here thinking I could come here, and then go back to America unscathed. But I never could, could I? No matter what, you're always dragging me into your own bullshit and think you can tell me how to run my own life! I can't live my own life, can I, Pa? At least, not in the way I want to."

"What else could I do?" he whispers morosely. "There wasn't any other choice. Your mother, your... sisters. They are out of the question."

"So you're going to drag me into your bullshit, huh?" I shout.

"I work hard for my family. Everything, this house... everything, it was earned by _my_ hard work! You think when I die I would willingly turn everything over to anyone who isn't my family? That I would let all of this turn into nothing? Rosalie could never handle this. Alice is too young. The only man left was you. Ever since you were born, this was planned. I had a vision for you, and that was that you would carry on my business and take care of your family as a man should. Did you expect me to leave you all with nothing?"

"I don't want this, Pa! I have _never wanted_ this! I used to envy everyone else, because their families weren't so fucked-up and wrong!" I tell him, moving towards the door. "Everything you've worked for, as far as I'm concerned, can go to dust!"

"Why are you like this?" he demands, moved to anger himself.

I freeze, my hand curled around the doorknob. I know what's coming. I just know it. Now everything is my fault, and I'm the bad son. "Like what? What am I like?"

"So _ungrateful_! You have always been this way, Edward. From the very moment you were born right up to what I did for you with this beautiful Isabella Italian girl, you were always ungrateful and taking everything I have worked for, for granted! Do you not care about me and continuing my wishes, as a good son should? Does your family mean _that little_ to you?"

I whirl around to face him, feeling my face burn with hatred. "Don't bring this all onto me, Pa," I say, exhausted. "You wanted this, but I never did!"

His expression abruptly softens. "I love you, despite everything. You are my son, and I can't help but love you. There are sacrifices to everything that has to be taken. You can't escape or avoid what is in your blood. All I ask of you, as my last undying wish, is that you finally respect me and accept the hands of fate that you were dealt with here, Edward. You must resume my business, and eventually, when Isabella is with child, once that child is a masculine one, the same will be done for him for his father from generation to generation to come. This is just how it is! It's a fact of life!"

He steps closer towards me, his hands raised in the air. I know what he's about to do, and I can't stop it. I can't even get out-of-the-way in time enough when he clasps my face in his hands, embracing me tightly.

"I'm dying, Edward. My time is soon going to come to an end. This is my last wish that you promise to take care of the family, for me. Take care of your mother, and your sisters, for me. Don't let everything I have worked so hard for amount to nothing. You wouldn't do that to me, would you? I'm your old man. You may think you despise me, but have mercy on me. You wouldn't really do this to me, would you?"

I don't answer stubbornly. Still, he must see something on my face; A little tell-tale sign of me cracking under the pressure, because he sighs softly in satisfaction.

"See, you are like me, aren't you? We take care of our own. We don't let anything happen, and we don't let anybody go without. This is my last wish. Don't make me die an unhappy man."

I just let him think he is getting to me. Let him think everything is going his way.

He leans in, kisses me on the cheek loudly, and releases me. As I turn to head out of his room, he calls me back gently.

"Your wedding will be the next weekend to the lovely Isabella. I want to see you wed an Italian before I die."

I sigh with frustration through my nostrils. _Asshole. Everything just has to go his way, or not at all._


End file.
